(no subject)
Annie has a cat.
More accurately, Annie used to have a cat, back when her room was the guesthouse at her sister's place instead of a room that reminds her of her dorm at Georgetown. Granted, it had been more of a family pet, and tended to anchor itself to whoever gave it the most attention - and after Annie's permanent relocation to Langley, that had been her two nieces. It was an extremely tolerant cat, at the very least. Not many animals would stand for taking the role normally assigned a Barbie doll during dress-up, or being given the place of honor at a tea party. In the end, it was probably a good thing, because Annie's work - and her life, by proxy - had become much too busy to allow her to care for even something as simple as a plant.
On the island, she doesn't have that excuse, that reason to offer for why having a pet would be a bad idea, and maybe it's kismet, coincidence or some weird island force of nature, but she's noticed a cat following her around lately. It's one of a few that seem to largely inhabit the Compound after being left behind in the aftermath of their owners' disappearances, and this one actually appears somewhat interested in giving her the time of day - but he's not going to make it easy for her to reciprocate.
Day one, he surprises her by winding around her ankles in the kitchen while she waits for the coffee to brew. She gasps, he runs, and then spends the rest of breakfast glaring at her underneath a nearby table (as if she's to blame for being startled in the first place). Day two, she gets close enough to read the name on the tag dangling from his collar before he darts away again.
They're now going on day three, and Annie's stretched out on the couch in the rec room, reading a book. The cat (who she now knows as Ivanhoe) is perched on the furthest armrest, tail lashing back and forth as he occasionally looks at her through half-closed eyes.
"It's a work in progress," she tells him, and only receives a loud purr in response.
More accurately, Annie used to have a cat, back when her room was the guesthouse at her sister's place instead of a room that reminds her of her dorm at Georgetown. Granted, it had been more of a family pet, and tended to anchor itself to whoever gave it the most attention - and after Annie's permanent relocation to Langley, that had been her two nieces. It was an extremely tolerant cat, at the very least. Not many animals would stand for taking the role normally assigned a Barbie doll during dress-up, or being given the place of honor at a tea party. In the end, it was probably a good thing, because Annie's work - and her life, by proxy - had become much too busy to allow her to care for even something as simple as a plant.
On the island, she doesn't have that excuse, that reason to offer for why having a pet would be a bad idea, and maybe it's kismet, coincidence or some weird island force of nature, but she's noticed a cat following her around lately. It's one of a few that seem to largely inhabit the Compound after being left behind in the aftermath of their owners' disappearances, and this one actually appears somewhat interested in giving her the time of day - but he's not going to make it easy for her to reciprocate.
Day one, he surprises her by winding around her ankles in the kitchen while she waits for the coffee to brew. She gasps, he runs, and then spends the rest of breakfast glaring at her underneath a nearby table (as if she's to blame for being startled in the first place). Day two, she gets close enough to read the name on the tag dangling from his collar before he darts away again.
They're now going on day three, and Annie's stretched out on the couch in the rec room, reading a book. The cat (who she now knows as Ivanhoe) is perched on the furthest armrest, tail lashing back and forth as he occasionally looks at her through half-closed eyes.
"It's a work in progress," she tells him, and only receives a loud purr in response.